Talk about spiraling downwards
by gutlesswonder
Summary: Talk about spiraling downwards! Chasteness is as far of from me as Peter is from making the Quidditch team. And I can seem take it lightly. Make fun of it even. But this isn’t funny! Feeling sick of your own existence is not funny! Lily's POV.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own anything.

Hello! This is the first fanfic I have ever dared to upload. Truth is, I _need_ reviews! Because if it is so, that I have no talent for writing at all –very plausible indeed– it'd be good to know. And um... my english may suck, quite a bit...

uuu, and yes, this is just a experimental suggestion of how Lily and James could have got together. This idea might have already been used :/ if it has, please don't take offense. I don't mean to be a total unoriginal tit.

The rating is probably unnecessarily high, there's nothing explicit. I was just playing it safe.

* * *

Talk about spiraling downwards! Chasteness is as far of from me as Peter is from making the Quidditch team. And I can seem take it lightly. Make fun of it even. But this isn't funny! Feeling sick of your own existence is not funny! I never wanted to be like this! I didn't _do _things like this! Respectable girls don't _do _things like this! This doesn't even cross their minds. I must have a male brain, a hurtful male brain!

Poor James.

Though this is partly his fault! He had been making me feel all hot and bothered for a year or so. Don't mistake that to mean I have _feelings_ for him. I only have feelings for his body. I can justify that by the following:

Having traveled this far down the path of sin I have come to notice how very adjacent humans are to their animalistic side. Said side of us is so close to the earth and beginning of evolution that it is muddy. Muddy means dirty thus this part of us must be concealed and restrained. Mankind has been trying to do so for very long. But the inevitable truth is that this part exists, pulses and breathes. We are animals! I am an animal! No, not trying to be funny, just trying to explain.

The animal side of me aims to do what my body was biologically made for, and that is breed. To breed with the "strongest" of the "heard". And here, by strongest I mean physically finest, and by heard the people I encounter. And sadly Mister James Potter seemed to be my body's first choice. My body is an idiot and head regrets ever being a part of it.

No matter how my head, brain and shear will disapproved and scoffed, my body sent searing surges to it as Potter walked by. Turned on became a permanent state of being.

I do not blame Potter entirely for the former. But I do undoubtedly blame him for giving my godforsaken body the opportunity it longed for. He tricked me into meeting him in the transfiguration classroom. I walked in and felt my knees buckle. Bugger.

He said he wanted me to here him out. I wanted to knock him out. Well my head did, my fist gave a feeble jerk. Lust was beginning to build up in me. His hips were loose as he walked towards me.

I began yelling. Anything to deafen the pulsing in my ears, and places, one just shouldn't pulse, while confronted with a moron. He began tugging at me and pleading. The usual routine. I gave my despising laugh as well as I could muster and he fell into a ramble about loving me.

Then – Oh bloody bollocking hell – then there was a sudden, fumbled, sloppy, angry kiss, meant to make the other just Shut up! But instead causing everything to freeze and fast forward.

I heaved onto a desk, progressing only on instinct and indecency. My legs felt like lead as they clung to his waist. There was a tiny "Lily wha -?" cut short as I tore his shirt open.

He caught on soon enough.

Just to be lost soon after.

"Lily, what's the hurry?" He later smiled, fumbling with his shirt collar. I was gathering my clothes from the floor.

"Potter, that was nothing. You caught me on a bad day. A good day for you no doubt, but a meaningless day nonetheless!"

His arms fell limp and I stalked off to cry. Feeling dirty and wrong.

To fit something as drastic as what we did into ten minutes or so, is muddling. It felt like decades had past in that silent, sweaty moment when something in us had erupted simultaneously. I had warped into something I hadn't meant myself ever to be and everyone else were doing normal afternoon-y things.

Everyone but James. Having him care about me made it worse. If I had been someone indifferent to him, he could have fastened his fly and walk away. And in so doing make me scold myself less. But I really hurt him. Thinking back, I marvel, that he didn't simply cave in. Break. To him the situation must have seemed like I had finally come around with fuzzy feelings in return. I had led him on.

If I stopped ponder upon it, upon me too long, something swelled up from my midriff to my lungs and throat, making me want to puke what I had done out. Get it away and off. I did puke a few times. It didn't help. The Griffindor girls grew worried but I refused to talk. They made me feel even more soiled, in all their virginity and virtuousness. I couldn't stand being around them or inactive so buried myself in school work and prefect duties.

James didn't seek my company anymore. Actually he seemed to avoid me. I ought to have been pleased. But instead I felt terrible. When he did happen to cross my way, he looked wounded and slightly afraid. I couldn't hold my gaze. I wanted to wrap myself into a small ball. The way hedgehogs do. Being a hedgehog must be easy. You'd just need to avoid milk and dairy products. I could deal with that.

After awhile I couldn't let the situation lay. It was clogging up my windpipe. I had to find James. Ironically, he was in McGonagall's classroom.

"Ah Miss Evans. What a convenient time, for you to drop by. Could you possibly be bothered to keep an eye on Potter and Black? They have detention and I need to discuss urgent matters with the headmaster."

McGonagall peered through her door, as I was about to knock.

"Uh, sure."

James' shoulders were tense as I approached from behind. I was sure his face was cringed and bracing itself for a hurdling and molesting redhead. Guilt stabbed at me. I grimaced. James' best friend Sirius Black grinned.

"Could you excuse us?" I asked seating myself behind McGonagall's desk and addressing Black.

"Wants time with you alone, eh?!" He said and nudged a nauseated James. Then he flung himself from his chair and out of the room. All sex appeal and smile.

James dared a glance at me. He looked no older than two.

"Does- does he know?" I asked timidly.

I shouldn't have asked because James had a tantrum.

He said that he hadn't told anyone, even though I hardy deserved the consideration. And then he was on his feet and it was all, "What the fuck, Lily?" and "You think you can mess with people like this!" and "And what are you trying to do now?"

He silenced with a weak "I- uh- you- ah-nauuughh! Sod it!"

I could feel my innards sink, until he wrenched them along with the rest of me up and against the blackboard. Attacking me with scorching kisses. I whimpered. I let him have me, feeling temporally filled –almost fixed– and afterwards sorely empty. Hollow. He left, tension returning to his back. I felt cheap and exposed, clutching my shirt and remains.

So began our circling routine of sex and departure. Playing the role of offender is flung back and forth constantly. We never used McGonagall's classroom again. It was stupendously stupid in the first place.

After the second time I sought him into my hands before breakfast the next day. He was the last in his dormitory, and had just finished dressing. It was pay back.

And seeing as he is at least as stubborn and proud as me, he couldn't leave it with me ripping myself off him and a dull glance. He stormed in on me as I was retreating from a Slug Club meeting and hurled me into the nearest broom closet. I cornered him in the men's dressing room after his Quidditch practice. He took his revenge while I was brushing my teeth before bed. And so on.

At some point we discovered the Room of Requirement and that is where I sit now, tangled in a blanket, propped against a table. James is asleep. He drools and snores. I can't sleep in his presence. I used to slip away.

No, I used to stomp away. But lately the somehow reassuring arrangement of each assaulting in turn and then abandoning the other in a huff, has begun to haze away. The line is not as defined. He sometimes approaches me gently and I have to hiss and nip him out of it. He has broached upon me with his subtle inquiries. He needs to know what this is. And I have no answer.

I do hate him. It hasn't been love making. I never smile. Kissing is brutal crashing. This isn't necessitate in the word's true meaning. I need the yanking and panting. I love it when his axillas are trapped between the inner sides of my elbows and my forearms cross over his shoulder blades, hands snaking to the his nape of his neck. But I do not need him and certainly do not love him!

And yet I have begun to linger behind, to watch him sleep and nibble my fingernails.

I feel filthy among other people. At least with him it's somewhat equal.

" Lily?"

James looks stupid and likely to drown inside the bedcovers, as he stares at me. " Want another run?" Smiling cheekily, he shifts, so his torso is bare and his hands are at the edge of the bed. I hate it when he talks and smiles. Acts as if we were lovers. I climb atop of him in a jumble of limbs and more linen. He smells of sleep. He pulls his back against the headboard and grips my hips. His head is at an angle, which exposes the whole of his neck. I bite at it.

" You've never stayed behind before, I mean I've never woken up with you here…"

"Shut It!"

It comes out just as harsh as I meant it to. His hold loses firmness.

" Why can't you ever let me speak?"

He says and a nasty whiny imitation of him goes off in my head. Mimimimimimiik.

He continues.

"I mean, I know you've got issues but…"

With that I launch myself to the end of the bed, clasping a blanket to my front.

"Issues, Potter? You're the one whose got fucking issues! Always trying to convert this into something it'll never be. How hard is it to get trough your thick skull that all I want from you is a quick meaningless shag. Yes, you're meaningless! Your only here because your easy access. You could be anyone!"

It's a self-preservation mechanism. I watch my mouth go from afar. It's ready to rant on forever. Anything to stop James from saying things I don't want to hear.

His face contorts.

" Don't you dare."

It's a funny overdramatic whisper, but instead of laughing my face falls.

"Don't you dare say that! I know you Lily! You don't shag just anyone. You just can't admit to yourself that you have some feelings towards me that are more than lust. You moan out my name when you orgasm, for gods sake! You wouldn't do so if I were insignificant!"

My stomach lurches. How dare he drag that into this? Though that's all he has and he is clinging to it for dear life.

"Great theory you have there! Only someone as self-absorbed as you can come up with something like that. But the truth is you don't know me at all! How could you?"

We're both on our feet and dressing rapidly. It must look ridiculous. He stops –holding onto his azure shirt with the nice hems.

" I loved you, that's how! I found out all I could. Followed –almost fucking stalked– you. Till I realized there was nothing more than a slut to stalk!"

He wrenches the shirt on and marches out. The windows and I tremble at the door slamming. There's a ringing in my ears and I'm sure this is the moment I lose my sanity. Wouldn't that be nice? It would be the perfect escape. I'd never have to fess up to my actions.


	2. Chapter 2

Weeks pass. Nothing new. I feel like my hands sometimes feel after sleeping till noon. It's impossible to fist them, to hold or grip anything.

Something has begun to pull at me. It's trying to wrench me from that which was my life, before I imploded it. Something is trying slap me into seeing something. I'd rather not see. Because I'd have to acknowledge this something in it's full form, reflect upon it and act. I'm not capable of such.

My days are made out of motions, I'm not a part of. I make no real contact with anyone, though I ache for it. I've gone almost numb. The only moments I feel something is when I'm locked in a bathroom with my hand down my knickers, thinking about someone who would probably rather gulp down Hagrid's mucus in buckets than have me think of him in such a way.

James loathes me now. I only see him at classes. I think he hides under his invisibility cloak most of the time, even at dinner. I wish I could hide too. Instead I have to wonder about in an odd chaotic state, not knowing if he's around and if his eyes are on me. I unwillingly imagine his eyes on me _all the time _even in the locked bathroom. I imagine him seeing me at my worst and it makes me flustered and immobile to a point were I have to guiltily swivel my hand free from my pants and leave. It's paranoid and pathetic.

Especially when looking at me seems like the last thing James would ever do. Even now, as we are lodged in seats before Professor Dumbledore's desk and Dumbledore is asking is if James has something wrong with his neck.

"No sir. What makes you think that?"

"Ou, nothing except you look like tilting or turning your head in any other direction other than my nose would break it."

Dumbledore says all this quietly, unhurriedly. James turns beet red and splutters. Dumbledore turns away from him with the slightest sight of a smirk.

"So everything is in order…" his eyes flicker "… prefect duty wise."

Cunning old men are scary. I feel as if he knows exactly what's gone on between me and James. I feel like vomiting in his hat.

" Yes, and that's ALL you have to worry about… SIR!"

James booms, yes booms in an almost silent office! He rises from the chair and skids it back towards Dumbledore's desk. Dumbledore looks bemused.

"Excuse me."

James says and spins around and ruffles the back of his hair. Stops to slap his hand out of his hair –and finally bolts out. I stare at the door, rather pleased that I didn't just act as insanely.

Dumbledore coughs. I whip round.

" Miss Evans, I believe it was the muggle writer James Joyce who said: Mistakes are the portals to discovery."

He gazes, taps his fingertips against each other and then nods to indicate I can leave. My face is still wonky with bewilderment as I stagger down the steps and out into the corridors below.

I slam into James' back. I know it him just by the smell of his cardigan. The hallway is scattered with other students, all listening to something that seems to descend from the floors above. James is drumming his fingers against his thighs rapidly. He's enwrapped in something, so enwrapped that he dodges swiftly aside, making me room, without the hostility, that he's held for me lately.

Nothings out of the ordinary except everyone's expectant gawk towards a flight of stairs at the end of the corridor.

Then, suddenly a rush of dark, thick liquid blasts from the top of the stairs in a face spraying angle. It gushes towards us. Over the tumult a Sirius Black bellows- "And-ha whadda you say Moony!?" He soars down the stairs and over the scene with a broomstick. A somewhat shocked Remus Lupin sits behind him, uneasy on the broom. Sirius is lanky and languid as he grabs two mugs from inside his jacket and dips them in the fluid beneath them, offers the other to Remus and guzzles down his own. "Do you forgive me for stealing your chocolate now?" He yells to Remus, with a chocolate covered upper lip. Remus laughs, patting his companion's chest and brandishing his mug forward merrily. "Yes! Yes! You are now officially forgiven!" He chuckles as they whiz away, deeper into the castle, the cascade of chocolate with them. Bystanders whoop, whistle and giggle. James' laughter pains my ears.

I want to grab his head and drown him in the chocolate, which has begun to drench our feet. I want to make him look at the crisis we're in, that has nothing to do with cocoa and laughing. We are standing beside one another, without arguing, speaking or communicating in any way! I'm not rolling my eyes and he's not pleading for a date like he always did. We're not even looking at each other. It's not meant to be like this!

Thoughts scream despairingly within me, and the something that's been tugging at me is frighteningly close. Chillingly close. And I can't deal. All this must show on my face, because James glances at me worriedly. He stills. I look back at him. He looks away, drumming his fingers again, but in an edgy manner. He wades off through the chocolate and I follow him. He slips behind a tapestry, into a less soaking passage way. It's rather dim.

"James"

He continues to trudge along.

"James, please!" A note of desolation slips into my voice. I feel dumb. James glances at me stiffly.

"What?" He's irritated and high pitched. His neck looks alarmingly strained.

"You- " I grip the stone wall for support, not knowing what I'm about to say. 'Here goes nothing.' – I think, stinging with something not unlike pain as I realize how fitting those words are.

" You have all the reason to treat me like this, James but just- just listen… I- I-"

I don't know were to begin,

"Dumbledore said, after you left that ' Mistake are sometimes the portals to discovery' or something along those lines."

Uu, a quote, fabulous way to start a speech! Now if I can continue with something that conveys a thought of mine with the said quote, I might get out of this alive...

"I've done a lot of mistakes"

Eureka!

"But I- I've discovered something too."

What? No I have not! I've discovered nothing! This isn't me talking. Something's taken over my mouth. And I'm pretty sure I know what that something is. It's the same something that nags at me awfully frequently; when I'm at class, when I wank and when I do anything at all.

Everything in me halts as I realize where this something is going to lead.

"I've discovered that…"

Doom! Doom! Dooooooom!

And without my consent my legs start to edge forward towards an attentive James. I need to stop myself now, or something permanent will happen and I shall perish. Die. Have to leave the country, in the least!

"… I hate you!"

Ah, gained control of myself again. That was close.

I stand there feeling rather well accomplished until I notice James' face. I can feel my eyes flood with regret. This is not right. I'm not right, haven't been right for the whole semester. I had a chance to mend it but I didn't because I could be harmed and exposed in doing so.  
The awful, nameless something I was sure to be projected from outside myself, gushes from inside. It's in me! It's always been a part of me. It gushes from within my body and the back of my brain linking with the last constraining, battling, denying part of me.

I pant and blink for several moments.

This is what an epiphany must feel like. Hell, this is one! I fit and I get it and I can deal with this. I can, maybe mend it.

Just as James begins to whip around and thunder off as the silly little lad that he is, I seize him by the front. I fumble with his collar, fussily button his cardigan up at the throat and pat his chest gently. All smother-ly motherly, while my hands shake.

I don't dare look up.

"I don't hate you. Well I do…" He tries to scramble from my grasp, I don't let him. "… I hate you because you make me feel things I don't consider wise or safe to feel. Your so stupid, and scrawny! You scare me. You're not stable, with your temper and passion and whatnot. You look like a child when you act like a man and you look like a beetroot when you act like a child. Your have icky partly calloused hands, which are far from icky when you touch me. And- and don't get me wrong, I'm not just lusting after you- "

I pause. Fear wells up and seeps trough my limbs, leaving them flimsy. I can't do this. My knees give way and I slide down James' body, groping feebly at his shirt hem and trouser pockets. Plunking down into the sweet smelling chocolate I clamp myself to his drenched ankles, mumbling the following:

"There's more to it, you see I s- sort of love you. Love you so much, that it frightens me to a freezing point. Which is so not good, because that means you're I control. And face it, you can be a dense wanker! A dense wanker in control, of do I get another chance or not…"

Then I sob into his knees, pressing my forehead tightly to him, choking out a few 'please James-es and effectively proving I am mad, if it wasn't clear enough before.

His legs are sturdy and I never want to leave them. James however brings me up by the armpits. He' s such a dignified man, that he can't stand people disgracing themselves at his shins. Lovely dignified James! I nuzzle my face against him all the way to being upright. Oh, I'm definitely deluded by love. James isn't the slightest bit dignified; he took a shit in a plant pot, during herbology, just last year. All he wants is for me to get the hell away from his feet.

He looks at me. I can't remember ever stopping to look him in the eyes without scorn. His eyes spiral from hazel to coffee till they hit immeasurably bottomless black. He knits his brows, lips all puffy and parted. The expression on his face teeters so near pity I have to keep myself from smacking him. It's reassuring to find that some of my original emotions are still intact.

"Lily" He says. His breath smells of dinner. I don't dare speak. I've already said too much, ruined his perception of me by coming clean and talked about _feelings. _He reaches out and holds me at the jaw line, eyes keeping mine. Then his gaze darts, traces my face.

He's never been this in charge of us. And unlike I would have imagined he's sustaining it well, being never faltering and intense. He quickly bends down, so I can feel his breathing disturb the hair by my right ear. He dips and licks what supposedly is chocolate off me. At least I hope it's chocolate. The lick turns into a kiss. I coax it from my cheek to my lips. It's a soft kiss with lots of pulling and starting anew. Spit webbing itself between us.

We've never gone slow before. After a longer while James notes we should go for a wash. He fingers my now sticky shirt and skin, and shifts his chocolate trainers.

I agree too hastily and too happily, kissing him all over with my palm at the nape of his neck. If he was smart he would note I am morphing into a clingy terrible thingy, and run away. Too bad for him.

As we tramp to the Gryffindor tower it becomes clear that most of the castle has been filled with melted chocolate. All the are students drinking it before the teacher's come up with a way or the strength to evaporate it.

Sirius Black has perched himself and Remus in a chandelier and sings " Augustus Gloop, Augustus Gloop, The big greedy nincompoop– " out of tune.

"– Heyy, this song rather Peter, don't you think?"

"You read Charlie and the chocolate factory?"

"Ah Moonzei, that's were I got this immensely marvelous idea! I'm fucking Willy Wonka!!!"

The chandelier gives an unnerving lurch, as Sirius leaps up with boastful gestures. Remus tugs him into a sitting position.

"You're going to get us killed!"

The Gryffindor tower is empty. I follow James up to the boy's dormitory because it's not like I have a reason not to. His weight upon me in his four poster keeps me together. It's comforting.

He _wants_ to be gentle and I whimper-sigh-coo ad he is so. I faintly realize that this is what I always thought my first time ought to have been like: the result of a "healthy" and loving relationship. The thought is naïve, because this wouldn't be like this if we'd have not done it before, if it'd not been brutal –and I brutally honest– James wouldn't know what to do. We're not fumbling flushing first timers. But the loving whispers and lack of furious teeth is an alteration, which makes it flawless.


End file.
